


Call Me

by AutumnQuest



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alec Lightwood Deserves Nice Things, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Insecure Alec Lightwood, Internal Conflict, M/M, One Shot, POV Alec
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-28 19:21:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15713484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutumnQuest/pseuds/AutumnQuest
Summary: Alexander had let shame and guilt cloud his early teens but one high Warlock is changing that."Last night the world spun around him for the first time. Ushered by the words of a cat eyed Warlock, and despite the years of self-loathing the small memory of the moment someone had singled him out over his peers was golden and fabulously glittered."





	Call Me

Alec lay in bed trying to think of the moment shame laced this skin. An obvious guess would be the thoughts of disgrace and disapprove from his parents. Stir that with the dishonour the Clave would preach and that was enough to bring shames ugly head rearing.

It seemed to have appeared one morning in his early teens, waking him in a cold sweat from a wayward dream. The bitter taste of guilt on his lips coupled with heat in his groin.

At what point had guilt started to churn his stomach?

At the time the realisation had made it near impossible for him to look his father in the eye from fear he would see right through him. Sidestepping his mother while being on best behaviour to prove that he was still _her_ son. It had crippled him, scared him, taunted him in his dreams with illicit words and images of sexual exploit. Crushing him with embarrassment at errant thoughts, every uncontrolled glance reeked with self-loathing, every small thrill of excitement through his spine leached with regret.

Then he turned eighteen; the void in his chest seemed to settle nicely. Giving him some comfort at its familiarity, giving him fear at approaching it. Only recently had he let the words - ‘I’m gay’ - brush his lips. This was the best option lest his mother and father look at him with eyes of abandonment, the Clave strip his runes, Jace turn his back.

The ease of accepting denial was oblivious bliss.

As he lay in the warmth of the cotton sheets mused with sleep, he could not understand the restriction on love. As an outsider it seemed so pointless to deny someone's private life. If no harm be done then carry on. Can it not be that simple?

At the thought of how innocent the situation really is, his difference from _‘norm’_ , his guilt spiked and shame coloured his cheeks. The Clave, his parents - Jace wouldn’t find it so innocent.

The thoughts that plagued him since his early teens were so scandalous and absurd to his upbringing, they could ruin everything his family had fought to rebuild. It scared him how he had turned out so wilfully _wrong_ from what his parents saw as _right_. How there was nothing he could do to change it but pretend.

He moved to his side, a swelling of discomfort in his chest, his stomach tightening at the new thoughts. Unlike the shame and guilt riddling his skin, the exact moment his difference came alive in brilliant colour was last night.

Last night the world spun around him for the first time. Ushered by the words of a cat eyed Warlock, and despite the years of self-loathing the small memory of the moment someone had _singled him out_ over his peers was golden and fabulously glittered. Shame - guilt unable to fight it, sitting in their cavity in his chest eying the new emotions with anxiety.

Upon entering the Downworld party he hadn't thought to pay any attention to anyone or anything that hadn’t been making sure Jace didn’t get into trouble for _this girl_. By the time the words had filter through, registering in the brain as an invitation, he had forgotten the lilt of the voice, stunned they had noticed him. Jace was a pull, he was a push. With that in mind why had the man chosen to direct his gaze on him with a-? _Was it a playful wink?_

Alec raked his brain to confirm it, _surely no one would wink at him?_

Scolding himself, Alec dragged a hand over his face lifting the warmth from the blankets. Attention was so rare he should be able to pull it back to focus. For as much as the words echoed through his head, he could not pin them on the Warlock. He could not attach a voice to them other than his, repeating and hold them to himself as a sign that someone chose him. It just could not and should not be. Was the man blind to those around him, had he not looked at Jace? Or Izzy? Jace pulled people in, he pushed the other way.

Forgo all the years of guilt - those words were his and he accepted them. Angry that he hadn’t thought to pay attention because he didn’t expect it to happen again. A weight he hadn’t cared to acknowledge seemed to lift. His bed felt warmer, the blush of shame on his cheeks receding slightly.

He accepted them.

Trudging to the bathroom a niggling thought tainted the words, Magnus was likely drunk and looking at him through beer goggles. But as Alec steps into the shower, the words continue to echo, chipping at the hollow cavity.

All through studying runes, cleaning his bow and quiver, sparring with Izzy. The words kept echoing.

“Call me?” and he was certain that he had winked at him too.

-

Alec had hit the mat a few too many times today and Jace was picking up on it. His mind was elsewhere, he was obsessively thinking about Magnus Bane even though his memory was blurry and selectively adding things he’s sure didn’t happen. Like the wink.

He had dreamt of that wink from various angles but the one that caught him most was Jace’s fist smashing into his left collar bone tumbling him to the mat. He rolled back over head, catching his feet. Lunging forward to wrap his arms around his parabatai’s waist. Knocking the air from him. He felt Jace’s stomach contract to his shoulder. Jace planted his foot and swiftly pulled his knee up into Alec’s stomach. Alec rolled to the floor but not fast enough. Jace straddled his back, grabbing his arms in a vice lock, his lips inches from his ear, “too slow bro.”

Jace jumped up and away, waiting patiently for Alec to give the ready sign. He could feel his eyes on him as he stared at the floor trying to regain his choked breath. Counting back from ten to disperse the thoughts of what would happen if he and Bane sparred?

“Someone needs to go to Magnus’ apartment. He made something for Clary that might help her. Alec?” Izzy stood in the room with a hand on her hip, undoubtedly, there was no room for discussion. She watched him, pulling in short tortured bursts of air.

“Why me?” he forced, already thinking of seeing the Warlock again.

“You got the wink.” She winked back, shooting him with her fingers.

Mortified - for all her subtly she knew what that would do to him.

Alec flushed. His eyes stung with embarrassment that his sister was more accepting than him. Running unsure fingers through his hair, he realised he was shaking. Going would mean that he could confirm details of the other night, ask what he meant by ‘Call Me?’ and seeing if he was still interested.

Which in tow meant whether he, himself, was interest and that pulled a thousand knots in his stomach.

Before either of his sibling could tease him for the blood flooding his cheeks he swept from the training room, struggling to breathe again.

-

Confined in his room with his thoughts, Alec lay on the bed warm from the shower, drifting in and out of sleep. His thoughts making him hot, a pale blush tinting his skin.

He was going to see the High Warlock again.

Alec pulled his thighs together tighter. A smouldering heat sinking in his stomach. Fisting his hands above his head pushing away the impulse to ease his ache.

Over the last week his dreams had had a focus point. Cat like eyes and mused black hair.

In the dreams, he lay under the heat of the others bare skin, mixing copper gold with sullied snow, clean surface with Rune scars. His bowman fingers reaching, grabbing, caressing lean muscle in a tender way that scared him. The pulse of deep rooted magic fluttering under the surface, pulling Alec in, dragging him down into a warmth that swept every inch of his skin.

The growing heat getting heavier around him until he found himself squirming into the cool sheets for release from the other man’s spell. His eyes licking all of Alec’s skin, his lips dragging and teeth nipping, pinching pleasure to the surface. Polished nails teasing across his Runes making him sweat with want.

Before long his control and resolve to ignore the Warlock vanishes. He grips Magnus, hard. Digging his ragged nails into the silken skin pulling him further down on his heat, pushing up for friction, rubbing, rutting, wanting more.

Then he wakes aching; his hand hovering over his hips, resisting the urge to touch.

He lay still, wrapped in the silk of his dream, aware that today he was meeting him again and perhaps that made his dream more vivid than usual. The realisation that today he could touch Magnus’s hand and feel his skin.

He lay still - simple breathing. Feeling his lungs expand and shrink. He tries to relax, squeezing his toes and rolling his ankles, pulling his calves in, pulling his thighs tight, dropping his hips. Expanding his stomach along with his lungs and letting it all go. Rolling his shoulders, shaking his neck and head against the pillow. He held his hands in tight fists until his fingers ached then let them go too.

But still… still he felt sick. His chest felt hollow, blood was rushing to his head in nauseous waves.

He took a shower slowly, taking care to scrub every inch of skin. He shaved his face methodically but went over it again. Checking the mirror on every angle and when he felt foolish looking at himself for so long, he returned to the room to dress.

He eyed the wardrobe with self-loathing. Until today he had had no reason to dress up, the object to blend. His clothes were minimal, black and greys, some navy blues. Baggy jumpers and tatty jeans.

He picked his best navy jumper and his cleanest jeans, leaving the room before he could pretend to be busy or sick. His head was swimming in heated silk and morning suns.

-

Magnus’ apartment entrance was a lot grubbier than he remembered. Staring at the door, his chest felt heavy and his stomach was awash with guilt. On the train ride over, he had tried everything to calm himself yet succeeded in making himself infinitely worse. What would his mother say to him spending so much free time thinking of and trying to understand a wink and a _‘Call Me?’_ from none other than a _Warlock_.

Before him stood the cause. Magnus. He looked at him with mild surprise, settling for an easy expression of indifference. Alec’s stomach dropped, “hey.”

“Alexander Lightwood,” he paused. Alec wondered whether he should fill the silence but Magnus’s roaming eyes stopped him shy, “you haven’t called me but I can forgive because seeing is far better.”

A searing heat flooded his cheeks, a tingling at the back of his neck he fought to wipe away. He stared at Magnus with awkwardness written all over his face managing to choke out a desperate why? His feet felt light, his legs like jelly. He was both relieved and embarrassed to notice that his memory of Magnus’ copper gold skin was near perfect. He knew how his fingers would look lacing those muscles, it only made him blush more.

“Well, those blues - that hair,” he hums, his eyes slipping shut as he thinks of _supposable rude things_ or was that just Alec’s own thoughts? He craves to see those golden cat eyes again - “That jumper does nothing but hide you Alexander…” he pouts, “but I’m aware of your prowess. I can imagine. Let’s face it, imagination can be far more scandalous.”

He winks. _The same wink from the party._

“You have something for Clary?”

“Yes. No.” He looks shy himself now, _it’s cute,_ “I grew impatient that you didn’t call - to my surprise - I told Isabelle and asked for you.”

Alec looked long and hard at the man before him, his stomach doing summersaults. Was this possible? Was it true? He stared at the man with guilt, nervousness and jealousy. How can someone be so openly honest about their wants?

“Well… I- can’t really stay, we’re trying to learn whatever Clary knows-”

He rushed in - “I have some more information about Clary that might help come in!” before Alec could argue that countered what he just said, Magnus swung around and disappeared into his apartment.

A sudden fear of losing sight of him struck Alec in the chest, before he had time to protest his legs were striding in after the man, following his melodic voice. The door shut behind him of its own accord, a slight hue of blue shimmering around the handle. The apartment had changed to his surprise. It was now minimalist noir. The bright lights and red plastic cups nowhere to be seen. He preferred it.

Magnus’ voice drifts from an alcove, singing _Alexander_ in a sweet tone. Alec’s stomach squeezes, his throat drying. He steps into the kitchen to find the High Warlock looking over a tattered volume. His black nails scanning over flaming text, his other hand pinching at some powder.

He sprinkles a bit into two finely stemmed glasses, the liquid turning a pale yellow.

“Hi,” Magnus hands over one of the glasses, rimmed with sugar. His tone is light, he drags out a bar stool and sits facing him. “I’m Magnus Bane. This is a Spicy Citrus Margarita. Favourite colour is purple, I have a cat - Chairman Meow and I hate cheap coffee.” He slams the book shut, scrawled across the front atop a sticky note Alec makes out _Recipes to Please - Cocktails!_

"You?"

Alec takes the glass, tentatively sipping. He pulls the stool out beside him and consciously takes his _stupidly baggy jumper_ off, relieved he had worn a t-shirt underneath. He takes another sip before answering.

-

At some point that evening he was aware that the sun was down and the street lights where on but that meant nothing. Magnus Bane was teaching him how to make the perfect, mojito and he felt warm and light and ready to take on the world. He didn’t mind Magnus’s appreciative looks either and surrendered his phone the second the Warlock asked.

"Call me?"

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone that has left kudos, a comment or simply just read!
> 
> Two people have shown interest in being Beta readers for me on future stuff so hopefully things will only get better from here! However, I write for multiple fandoms and more help the merrier. If you like my writing and would like to help me improve for future projects - if you would like to edit an already posted fic for me - please feel free to drop me a message on any of my SNS below. 
> 
> Thank you, Ashleigh.
> 
> Tumblr (Mixed Obsessions) - AutumnQuest  
> Twitter (Gaming & Stuff) - AshleighTookey  
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